


Some Idle Chatter

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-23
Updated: 2004-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bit of conversation between Ford and Arthur.  It takes place between "Restaurant" and "Life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Idle Chatter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for CadetDru

 

 

Okay, first - the disclaimer. I do not own anything remotely related to "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" franchise - all characters and ideas are property of the late, great, Douglas Adams, and his current heirs, estate, publishers, and what have you. My slight use of the characters and situations is not for profit, so don't sue me. Also, I don't have any money, so don't sue me. Moral of the story: suing me is bad.

Second - the setting. This story is supposed to dovetail into the space at the end of "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe" and the beginning of "Life, the Universe, and Everything." A few lines are taken from the original text at the beginning and end of the story to act as anchors.

Third - Enjoy!

***

"Some Idle Chatter"

***

After the Golgafrinchan party let out, Ford and Arthur retreated to the safety of an abandoned native village. One never knew if a destitute Golgafrinchan mob might begin torching the woods in an effort to combat inflation. Sitting in the quiet of a deserted hut, Arthur twiddled some sticks together whilst Ford poked about for food. Arthur cried out in surprise as the sticks caught on fire, singeing his hands.

"Hey - look!" said Arthur wryly. "I've discovered fire."

"And only about four hundred years before your ancestors will," Ford replied.

"They have fire pits here - and don't you try to convince me that the Golgafrinchans will survive for more than another year or two. The cave men will stage a comeback."

Ford glared at Arthur. "They're not cavemen. They live in huts."

"Hutmen. Whatever. You have to admit, they got forty-two out of the Scrabble set. They again shall rise."

"You're dreaming, Arthur. The incompetence of the Golgafrinchans will obliterate them in no time."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Ford. "You know what? I'm going to go talk to Captain Bathtub tomorrow and get it sorted out once and for all."

"Somehow, I fail to grasp the intricacies of your plan. You intend to prove that the Golgafrinchans aren't your ancestors?" queried Ford delicately. He handed Arthur a bit of a cheese-like substance and bread that he'd located in the back of the hut.

"Yes." Arthur began to toast his bread over the small fire.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, but ... how?" Ford continued.

"I haven't worked that out yet," said Arthur, "but a plan is developing. It might involve blood samples." He watched as Ford popped a bit of cheese into his mouth, and quickly spat it out again.

"Paste," Ford explained, and Arthur hurriedly chucked his portion out the open door.

The wayward travelers finished their meal in silence. As they settled into their makeshift sleeping bags (admittedly preferable to the swamp mattresses grown on Sqornshellous Zeta), Arthur gazed into the night sky. He looked at the stars and wished that the constellations were those he remembered.

***

Dawn broke coldly and angrily the next day. With little clothing to protect against the morning chill, Arthur decided to increase his ambient temperature by jogging to the Golgafrinchan camp. This turned out to be a rather poor idea, as the Golgafrinchans were unaccustomed to rising early, and greeted him with a chill equaling that of the morning air. Nevertheless, Arthur decided that he would persevere, and strode toward the Captain's shack.

It was then that his day turned decidedly for the worse.

***

Arthur had suffered a major blow to his sense of identity. His meeting with the Captain of the Golgafrinchans had not gone well - before he could meet the perpetually sodden man, he was greeted by a woman who bore more than a striking resemblance to his great aunt Marjoram (down to the support hosiery). The similarity gave him a nasty shock, as did the realization that perhaps Ford was right about his ancestry. Walking back to the hut, Arthur fell into step with Ford, who was returning from another fruitless search with his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic. Arthur lapsed into intermittent and unintelligible gibbering.

"Oh get over it," said Ford rather irritably. "It's not so hard to believe, anyway."

Arthur gaped at him. "But--but all of human history is founded on certain very basic principles! What about archaeology? I spent good money learning that humans evolved from--" A native wandered by, idly dragging a gazelle by one of its hooves. Arthur pointed wildly at him. "--from cavemen!"

"They're not cavemen," Ford noted.

"Oh shut up." Arthur moved to the shade of a beech tree to sulk.

Several hours later, Ford noticed that Arthur was still sitting under the tree, looking despondent. He approached him warily, as one might an angry goat.

"Hey, Arthur. You appear to have become one with the tree. How's it going?"

"Very badly," replied Arthur. "I have lost all respect for humankind."

Ford was unmoved. He'd never had much respect for humans in the first place. "Look, Arthur. I'm sorry your ancestors are idiots. But if you think about it, it really explains--"

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget I brought it up." Ford sighed, wishing that he had thought to pack a bottle of Janx Spirit. He stomped off into the woods, muttering about finding a good gin and tonic. Arthur continued to sit under the tree and ponder the futility of evolution.

***

The next morning, Arthur was still sitting under the tree. Ford, however, had regained his humor and was planning an adventure into the lands to the south. He began packing his satchel, chattering excitedly about seeing the Nile, when Arthur finally spoke.

"I'm not going."

"What?" asked Ford incredulously. He paused his frenetic packing. "Look, that's a nice tree, I agree, but---"

"I'm tired of running around, Ford. I've been in constant motion since that barbarian Prosser tried to knock down my house. I'm just tired. I want to stay here for a bit."

"You're insane," said Ford, swinging his towel about for emphasis. "What if we can pick up a signal and get the hell out of the Mesozoic Era?"

Arthur studied the rocks between his feet. "Ford, I'm as close to home as I ever can be again. I'm staying here." He looked up at Ford, who was still flailing about in confusion. "Where'd you get a towel, anyway?"

"Stole it from the Captain while we were still on the ship. He had tons."

"Ah." Arthur paused. "Send me a postcard sometime, eh?"

"So you're really not coming, then?" Ford asked quietly.

Arthur looked at him silently for a long moment, and then got up and walked into the woods.

***

'Humans' thought Ford. 'I will never understand them, no matter how long I spend on this godforsaken planet.'

He finished stuffing his few possessions into his sack, shouldered it, and took a last look at Arthur's retreating form. Sighing, he headed in the opposite direction. Half a mile along, he came to the river, where he noticed a small plastic rectangle floating forlornly in the reeds. He fished it out, and discovered that it was The Guide. Ford shoved it into his bag and continued walking, whistling a merry Betelgeusian folk song.

***

Ford traveled nearly ninety miles southward before he became bored with the details of his original quest. He toyed with a variety of distractions on different continents, including a memorable few weeks in which he was not entirely certain if he was from Betelgeuse, or from a small citrus grove in what would be, in nearly two million years, a bustling metropolis in central Italy. During this time, he tried to ascertain whether he produced zest (he did not), what his acidity was (undetermined), and his suitability as a drink embellishment (this experiment was going well, but eventually was abandoned when a giant juicer took up residence near the lake he had adopted as his makeshift tumbler). He also had attempted, at one point, synchronized swimming with Mako sharks - an activity that he would be loath to try again. The sharks had lousy form with the out-of-the-water throws.

But all his activities had failed to distract him from one thing: he was wretchedly lonely. He had been alone for four years running, ever since he had left Arthur at the not-caveman town. Ford pondered the possibilities of teaching penguins to fly, but as he himself had not made much progress in the subject, despite several months of practice, he discarded the idea and instead set his sights on the forest he had left four years earlier.

***

It had been four years since Arthur had enjoyed any kind of companionable contact. He vaguely remembered being insulted by some type of grey alien, but he had discounted that as a hallucination. True, Arthur had found the restfulness that he had so craved, yet after about a month of peace, the novelty had worn off. His life had become, in a word, dull. About a year into his solitude, Arthur had embraced the hermit life in earnest, and abandoned the hut in favor of a small cave by the river. Every morning, he left his cave and conversed for half an hour with his favorite tree. He then cleaned his cave, caught a fish at the river if he was lucky, and worked on whittling small bits of wood into small wooden shapes that resembled animals if enough alcohol was added to the equation. He exited the cave, and approached the nearby copse.

"Morning, Beech." The tree waved amicably at Arthur. "Nice sunny day, hm? I need something new to do today. Any suggestions?"

The tree creaked slightly, and shifted its branches in small curlicues as a gust of wind rose from the river.

"You think I'm crazy, huh? Hey, maybe that's something I can do. Go mad. In fact, that sounds like a solid plan. It should take up a month, at least."

"Good idea," said a voice behind him.

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin. He thought the tree had finally spoken to him, and was no less shocked to discover that the voice had, in fact, come from one extremely tan, thin, and bruised Ford Prefect, who was sporting the bushiest beard Arthur had ever seen.

"What happened to your knees?" Arthur asked.

"Good to see you too, Arthur!" Ford chided. "Glad to see you were pining away for company."

"Sorry, Ford. How've you been?" Arthur had some difficulty with conversation; he felt as though his words had to slowly fight their way out of his brain.

"Oh, I've been froody." Ford said, offhandedly. "Have you been living under a rock since I left?"

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say that," Arthur mumbled.

Ford peered into Arthur's cave and discovered that his query wasn't far from the truth. He had to admit that the cave was inviting; a crackling fire chased the chill from the early morning air, and several candles cast an uneven light on the rough stone walls. Ford surmised that a mossy lump, strewn with animal skins, barely visible at the far end of the cave, was Arthur's bed.

"Well, that's cozy. What's for dinner?" Ford chirped.

"Fish. If I can catch one. They've been less than accommodating as of late."

Ford looked at Arthur in surprise. "You mean, you haven't learned the pheromone trick yet?" Arthur shook his head. "Well, I'll have to go grab us some dinner then."

Ford was soon back. He had used his talents to catch a brace of hares plus some romantically-inclined tuberous plants. As Arthur began to prepare a haphazard dinner, he glanced over at his returned companion.

"I've missed you, Ford--" he began.

"Man, these cushions are really tatty." Ford was critically inspecting his seats. "You should get some new ones."

"--Mostly because I forgot how annoying you are," Arthur finished. "Still, it's good to see you."

As they ate, Arthur noticed that he was considerably more cheerful. Ford's arrival had brightened his day; his lively presence filled a hole that he hadn't realized was missing. Arthur began to appreciate just how much he had missed Ford. As they stood up to clear away the dinner bones, Arthur enveloped Ford in a tight hug.

"Thanks for coming back. I was getting lonely," Arthur said quietly.

Arthur was surprised that Ford returned the hug. "Me too," he said simply.

Suddenly, an energetic squeaking came from Ford's satchel.

Arthur looked bemusedly at the bag. "Been breeding voles lately?"

"It's the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic!" yelped Ford. He rushed over to his bag and began frantically twirling the knobs.

"Eddies in the space-time continuum!" he shouted triumphantly.

"And who is this Eddy person?" Arthur began, but Ford cut him off, a mad gleam in his eye.

"C'mon Arthur, no time to lose! It's time to get off this planet!"

In the distance, a velvet Chesterfield sofa began to appear. Ford, with Arthur in tow, dashed off in search of the next adventure.

FIN.

 


End file.
